


Three Knocks Away

by ThexInvisiblexGirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Very early MSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThexInvisiblexGirl/pseuds/ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: Adjoining motel rooms have become somewhat of a Mulder/Scully trademark though the years, but how did it come about? Here's my take on it.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Three Knocks Away

He could hardly believe his eyes – Scully was fast asleep.

He did a double take when he happened to glance sideways and noticed her slumped against the passenger seat, barely half an hour since they'd embarked on their journey. He didn't think too much of it at first; he'd come to know this about her, now that they'd been partners for six months. She had that remarkable ability to fall asleep just about anywhere, a trait she'd probably picked up in med school. He shook his head in certain envy, and lowered the volume of the radio so it wouldn't disturb her. He reached for the back seat as an afterthought, grabbed his trench coat, and pulled over so he could wrap it around her, smiling to himself as he tucked it underneath her chin. It had actually been good six months, he mused, although he would never admit it to anyone, least of all to her; he suspected she'd probably shared the sentiment, anyway, despite their numerous squabbles.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the motel, night was falling rapidly, and storm clouds began to gather in the horizon. Scully was still sleeping deeply, in itself a troubling fact, because another one of her talents was waking just as soon as they'd arrived at their destination, looking as refreshed as if she'd just left her apartment. He eyed her with growing concern. They weren't due at the crime scene until the next morning, which was fortunate, because she didn't look well; in fact she looked a little sick. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her lips parted as she softly snored, which was adorable but unusual. He was somewhat at a loss, unsure how to proceed. He felt bad about waking her, but surely she would prefer to change into much more comfortable clothes and sleep in an actual bed?

Unbuckling his seatbelt he leaned over carefully, then let his finger flutter against her cheek as gently as he dared. Her skin was smooth and warm. He was so close he could see the freckles on the tip of her nose, smell the lip balm he'd seen her apply when they got in the car. Its sweet scent lingered, somewhat of a mystery. Like childhood adventures, cotton candy and marshmallows. "Scully," he whispered, mostly to stir his mind back in track, but there was no response. He murmured her name again, moving his finger back and forth against her skin until he felt her stir beneath his touch. She grunted in protest, but her eyes fluttered open. They were glazed and unfocused as they met his. He couldn't help but smile. "Hi, sleepyhead."

"Mulder, what's wrong?" she croaked with certain urgency, but for once it was evident that her mind and her body weren't in sync.

"We're here. You fell asleep."

"Did I?" she stared at him as the fact slowly registered.

He nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before he could think better of it. "Are you alright?"

"I think I'm coming down with something," she admitted sheepishly, for once not playing it tough or hiding behind false pretenses, in itself a telltale sign to how bad she felt. His coat fell to her lap as she lifted her hand to touch her cheekbone, then winced. "It feels as if someone punched me in the face," she groaned.

"Why haven't you said anything when we left?"

"Because I didn't want to ditch you on this case. And I thought I had a few days before it..." She cleared her throat. He moved slightly back, giving her space. She tried to smile at him, but it seemed closer to a grimace. "My throat feels funny."

"Yeah, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you look awful." She didn't even have it in her to scowl. He shook his head, suddenly alarmed by the state of her. A thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. "Let's get you inside," he said.

"Mulder, it's fine. I brought some Tylenol with me just in case, I just need to sleep it off."

"I hope so, I really don't want to have to handle those autopsies instead of you," he joked. She attempted another smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. His heart went out to her. She seemed really miserable.

He draped his coat around her and handled their luggage one-handed while letting her lean against him all the way to reception, decorum be damned. The receptionist on call was a bored and suspicious middle-aged man, and it had taken a flash of both their badges to prove to him that Scully was neither drunk nor his wife. He was on the verge of losing his patience when the man's wife appeared, and luckily she was both more perceptible and serviceable. She took one look at Scully and immediately assigned them adjoining rooms, assuring him it would make checking on his "lady partner" easier. After thanking her hastily and sending a final glare in the general direction of her grumbling husband, he grabbed the keys and led Scully away.

Another thunder rumbled closer by as he unlocked the door to one of the rooms. He closed it behind them with some relief just as rain began to fall. Scully, who at that point detached herself from his side, reached for her bag despite his protest, and walked passed him to drop it on the bed, wordlessly claiming the room. He hoisted his own bag on his shoulder and approached the door that connected the two rooms. He jiggled the doorknob, then opened the door and peeked inside the adjacent room. He felt rather silly, marveling at a door like that, but the truth was he'd never been in adjoining rooms before. Then he began to feel self-conscious; he lowered his bag to the floor by the door and turned to face Scully again.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed near her bag, taking off her shoes and not minding him in the slightest, which made him feel slightly better about acting ridiculous. He knelt beside the bed to better look in her eyes. Her gaze was somewhat glassy still, but she managed a small, reassuring smile. "How are you doing?" he asked softly, resisting the urge to touch her face again.

"I'll live."

"I spotted a diner as we drove in. How about you get ready for bed and I'll go see if I can find us something to eat?"

She opened her mouth, supposedly to protest, but then sighed and he could see resolve in her weary features as she nodded. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

"Good," he replied, barely able to conceal his smug grin. "I'll be right back."

The diner was cleaner than most places they would usually encounter on the road, and everything on the menu looked appetizing and was promised to be home-made. He was happy to find his favorite on the menu – egg salad and bacon sandwich. Normally he would be wary of having bacon next to Scully because she liked going all doctor on him and frown upon his diet, but the drive in was grueling and he was famished. For Scully he chose a bowl of tomato soup, which he'd always associated with a sense of comfort. His mother had never been much of a cook, but whenever he or Samantha were sick, she swore by that soup she had learned from her own grandmother. Scully definitely seemed in need of something soothing, and he hoped the soup would do the trick.

Upon his return he quickly showered and changed, then lightly knocked on the connecting door before popping his head in. Scully was in bed, and looked up from the file she'd been reading, her glasses slightly askew and her hair tied back hastily in a bun. Despite that guilty smile at being caught working, she looked snug and warm, wearing a thick navy sweater, with the blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.

"What are you doing?" he chided her.

"I wanted to go over the coroner report again."

"You're not feeling well, Scully, give it a rest."

"I feel better," she contradicted him, then nodded at the bag he was holding. "What have you got there?"

He pulled up a chair and brought it closer to her bedside. "I brought you some soup."

"Thanks." She eyed his sandwich curiously as he unwrapped it. "What did _you_ get?"

"It's, umm, egg salad and bacon," he said demurely, bracing himself for the lecture. Instead she let out a sorrowful moan.

"That's my favorite sandwich."

"Oh, is it, _Dr._ Scully?" he couldn't help taunting her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Contrary to what you may think, I do like bacon, I just try not to eat it too frequently. Surely I don't have to tell you why... _again_ ," she concluded with a pointed look.

"Wow, you really do feel better."

"Shut up, Mulder." She placed the bowl carefully in her lap, opened the lid and sniffed it. "This is from a diner?" she asked skeptically.

"I know, right? It smells like my grandmother's kitchen."

She took a careful spoonful, but her dubious expression soon melted into a more blissful one. "Tastes like something out of a grandmother's kitchen, too."

They spoke of nothing in particular for a while, and with each spoonful Scully seemed slightly better, gradually more animated, which increased his relief. For a moment there he feared he _would_ have to call in a doctor for her in the dead of night, that she would have to spend the next day recuperating back here while he would be forced to tackle local law enforcement by himself. People didn't dismiss him out of hand with her beside him, he noticed. Her medical background put them at ease, created a fine balance with his more outlandish theories. He'd gotten so used to having her around that the very thought of working in complete solitude had filled him with dread.

"So tell me something," she suddenly said, abruptly pulling his mind away from those worst case scenarios. Once she was sure she had his attention, she looked over his shoulder at something, and then grinned mischievously at him. "What's the deal with the door?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, caught off-guard by her question.

"You tell me. You have this look of awe whenever you look at it; like you've never seen a connecting door before."

Oh. So she _had_ noticed. He should have known. He winced inwardly, but met her inquiring gaze brazenly. "Despite my misleading savvy exterior, I've never stayed in a room like this before."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What, ever?"

"Nope. I used to share rooms with male partners, few as those were, and my family wasn't what you'd call outdoorsy," he smiled grimly. "I bet you're no stranger to it," he added, both desperate to sway the focus away from the tragedy of his family and eager to get more insight on the private life of his still enigmatic partner.

"With a family of six, it's impossible not to," she replied. "My sister and I always stayed with my mom in one room, while my brothers stayed with my dad in the other. But as soon as my mom fell asleep, Melissa and I would sneak into the boys' room. My dad told the best ghost stories."

It had only been a couple of months, and the searing loss of her father was evident in her melancholy expression, making him immediately regret prodding her for information. Now meaning to take her mind off it, he came up with a silly quip about her being more open-minded to the paranormal as a kid, when he suddenly realized she was looking straight at him in a whole different way. "What is it?" he asked her, sidetracked.

It was a moment before she replied hesitantly, "I'm not entirely sure a connecting door adheres to regulations as far as male and female agents working together in the field."

She was blushing. He wasn't sure if it was brought on by her statement, the heat of the soup, or the fever of illness; possibly a bit of everything. Either way, it was endearing, but he knew better than point it out. "I don't know if you noticed, but I don't really follow regulations."

"No kidding," she rolled her eyes at him, her embarrassment momentarily forgotten.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," he winked at her, only to watch the color in her cheeks return, then deepen. She lowered her gaze to her lap, and for a moment he meant to apologize for making her uncomfortable, until he noticed she was smiling.

Their conversation drifted back to safer topics as they shared a slice of apple pie between the two of them, although he was eating most of it. At some point, even though she tried to fight it, Scully's eyelids began to droop.

"I'd better let you rest," he said with some reluctance, gathering up the remainders of their dinner. "If you need anything, knock three times. Don't worry about waking me, I don't sleep much."

He was the one ending up knocking three times, as softly as he could. It was half passed two and he just couldn't turn off his brain. He held his breath as he pushed the connecting door, but it didn't make a sound. He peeked in carefully, just to check on her. She was sleeping soundly, as one usually did under the influence of cold medications. There was a glass of water on her bedside, as well as the mug of tea he had prepared for both of them earlier. He took one step further inside the room, knowing full well he probably shouldn't. She seemed tiny lying there, and although her slumber didn't seem peaceful, he lingered a moment longer to watch her furrowed brow, the elegant point of her chin, the way her hair looked like a flame against the pristine pillow. He shook his head at his unpartnerly thoughts, then turned and returned to his room.

Over the years their partnership had known many motel rooms, many connecting doors through which they entered and exited and pondered and yearned, but in her mind, she always returned to this very first time they booked adjoining rooms, when she was sick and he took care of her. In many ways she thought of these rooms as the epitome of their partnership, the way their lives had become so inevitably entwined in one another's. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, as if they were one entity.

She always preferred it when their rooms were adjacent; it felt more intimate. Once they parted for the evening, she liked to listen to the mundane noises on the other side of the door and wonder what he'd been up to. She felt safer knowing he was only three knocks away. Most of all, though, she loved the way he still had that marveling look whenever he used the connecting door, as if it was an actual part of one of those spacecrafts he was obsessed with. Connecting doors had been their loyal allies for seven years. They had been silent witnesses to so many secrets, hers as well as his own, she was sure.

At the sound of three knocks she smiled knowingly at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Just another secret, the first one they'd shared. She lingered another second to finger-comb her hair and tighten her robe around her. By the time she reached the door, her smile was already concealed behind a well-constructed no-nonsense scoff.

"So… How about a ghost bedtime story?" he asked casually.

"Mulder, you promised," she chastised him, crossing her arms on her chest in an attempt to look stern against the sexy smirk that graced his face.

"I know, I just... it's just weird."

His hair was still damp, his tee shirt stretched across his muscular chest. His pout was both adorable and seductive; she had to look away. From the corner of her eye she noticed his grin widen. "This was the deal. No funny business at work." It was their first case since making this deal, since everything between them had changed so completely. And he was right, it _was_ weird. She was used to keeping her feelings hidden, but this was a whole new level she hadn't anticipated. There was this new intensity between them, especially with other people around. She felt it wrap around them like electricity, and it was making her paranoid; she was sure everyone around them would be able to pick up on it. It was a relief to finally check in at the motel, where Mulder could barely conceal his glee at the prospect of having adjoining rooms available. Although he'd promised to behave – several times, in fact – it was barely an hour since they'd parted for the night.

"Relax, Scully, I only wanted to say good night."

"Just say good night?" she asked to be sure, eyebrow raised. His expression remained sealed, unaffected. It was somewhat irritating, the way he had so much impact on her, while he remained cool and collected.

"That's completely up to you," he replied solemnly.

"Is it, really?"

He nodded slowly without breaking their gaze. They were having an entire conversation just with their eyes; lately, with so much to hide from the world, that old habit of theirs seemed to only intensify. But no one was there to watch them here, in this humdrum motel in nowhere Utah. It wasn't lost on her that had she chosen a different path, this was where she might have ended up. The very prospect was abhorrent now, inconceivable. Thoughts of this road not taken were distracting her further. Her need for him was like an ache, particularly stronger after trying to avoid him all day. It was clouding her judgment, and she was letting it, despite her determination to remain professional so long as they were out here. The other usual suspects – forbidden thoughts, doubts and self-admonishing – weren't far behind. It was wrong of her to initiate that deal, to establish this set of ridiculous rules for them to abide by. He was looking at her now as though waiting for her to reach the same conclusion.

"Oh, what the hell," she said, grabbing the front of his tee shirt to pull him closer against her. He toppled forward with a surprised chuckle, and held on to her waist for balance. She breathed in his scent, shower gel and sunflower seeds. Her pulse quickened; she felt lightheaded.

"I'm not entirely sure this adheres to regulations as far as male and female agents working together in the field," he murmured just inches from her lips, turning her own words from so long ago upside down. Who knew, back then, it would end like this?

"I couldn't care less about regulations," she breathed, wrapping an arm around his neck.

"Why, Agent Scully," he chided her, clearly amused by her uncharacteristic rebelliousness. "It seems working with me has finally rubbed off on you."

The mischievous glint in his eyes was familiar. She narrowed her own eyes at him. "Stop thinking about turning this into a pun and kiss me."

His lips already captured hers, his fingers finding their way to the knot at the front of her robe, as he stirred her backwards into her side of the room.

Just another secret, and yet the biggest of them all. But they were safe behind these doors. She was his and he was hers, and no one would ever need to know. And the truth was she was tired of playing by rules everyone around them seemed determined on bending.

Besides, they'd made a promise, all those years ago. She wouldn't tell anyone if he didn't.


End file.
